Pancakes & Introspection
by ScarlettKate1013
Summary: Five years into the future, Tom Chandler contemplates life. Speculation fic for Season 3 and beyond; Tom/Sasha pairing with hints of Tom/Darien and Tom/Rachel; give Sasha a chance, she just might grow on you.


_Author's Note – Okay, look, I have no idea where this came from, but here it is. It's unfiltered and un-beta-ed, so it's really all my fault. I have no idea what will happen when the premiere airs later tonight, but this just popped into my head earlier today, and I just had to get it out. I love the character of Rachel, I really, really do, and I have a feeling that after the premier airs, I'm going to be pretty heartbroken for a while. That said, I still think this will be an epic season, and I'm looking forward to each and every moment of it. Let's see, TLS and its characters still aren't mine. I keep asking nicely, but TPTB just won't give over their ownership rights. I hope that everyone enjoys this season, and I really do think that after all is said and done, Sasha is really going to be a character that we enjoy._

 _XO,_

 _Kate_

Pancakes & Introspection

Sunlight streamed through the open window, casting a golden glow over the hardwood floor. The floor, original to the rambling farmhouse, had been discovered quite by accident by Tom and his father when he and Jed attempted to repair the carpeting in Ashley's bedroom. The farmhouse, nestled just on the outskirts of St. Louis, had been home to the Chandler clan for just under five years, and all things considered, they'd been the happiest five years of Tom's life. Ashley, now seventeen years old, was as brilliant as she was beautiful. His oldest daughter had studied extra hard and graduated a year earlier than expected from high school. She'd already been accepted to the University of Missouri and would be a member of the first graduating class since the Red Flu struck. Ashley planned on being through with her undergraduate degree in three years, and then she planned on getting into the Rachel Scott School of Virology. The school, located on the Missouri campus, was dedicated to the study of viruses and bacterial infections. It had been dedicated in Rachel's honor on the second anniversary of her death. Thoughts of Rachel, as they often did, left Tom with a sense of profound sadness. She'd been gone for five years now, taken from them all by an assassin's bullet, but she'd left a legacy of healing that had literally changed the world.

Rolling to his back, Tom stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds around him to learn the whereabouts of his family. The faint whir of a saw told Tom that his father was in his workshop, no doubt working on his latest creation. Jed Chandler's wooden furniture was a staple around St. Louis, and his work was always in high demand. Further out towards the barn, came the sounds of the horses. Samuel had developed a love for all things equine - well, for all animals, truth be told - but his horses were precious to him. Yesterday, his Bay mare, Carys, had given birth to her first colt, and Tom would be surprised if Sammy hadn't actually spent the night in the barn, keeping watch over mother and child. Ashley would be with her brother, eager to gobble up any kind of medical knowledge her hungry mind could absorb.

That left only two members of his family unaccounted for - his wife and his youngest daughter. Moving out of bed and stretching out the kinks, he made his way to the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was Sunday, which meant the whole family would have a lazy day to themselves. With Ashley off to University soon, their days as a family were growing short, and Tom intended to make the most of the ones they had left. He moved through his morning ritual, his thoughts dancing not on his family, but on the two women he'd lost when the world had gone to hell. He couldn't forget Darien if he wanted to - her eyes stared back at him every day from Ashley's face and her laughter rang in his ears whenever Sam found something amusing. A couple of years ago, Sasha had helped him go through the box of mementos that Jed had brought with them from Norfolk. They'd divided pictures, letters and jewelry into two smaller boxes - one for each child. They'd given Ashley hers on her sixteenth birthday along with Darien's wedding ring. Sam would get his box along with his mother's engagement ring when he turned sixteen, an event which would take place in just two more years. The division of the rings had been Sasha's idea, and when she'd shared her reasoning behind her plan with Tom, he'd had to bow to his wife's superior logistics.

"It's simple, Tom," she'd told him. "Ashley's fiancé will pick out an engagement ring for her someday, but she might like to use her mother's wedding band. Sam, when the time comes, can pass Darien's engagement ring to his fiancé. Then both of the kids will have heirlooms to pass down to the next generation."

Rinsing the remainder of his shaving cream from his face, Tom closed his eyes as he brought forth Rachel's face in his mind's eye. He'd already been on his way to her room that night, spurred on by a churning in his gut that something just wasn't right. When he'd heard the gunshot, he'd broken into a run, arriving moments later to the horrible sight of the savior of the world lying in a pool of her own blood. He'd dropped to his knees, felt her blood soak the material of his dress blues, and he'd wanted to die in that moment as her eyes had opened and she'd smiled weakly at him. Gone was the siren who'd tempted him outside his hotel door. In her place, was a ghost. Her lips were already turning blue, but she was still trying to talk to him.

"No, sweetheart," he'd pleaded with her. "Save your strength, Rachel, you've got to hold on!"

"No, Tom," she'd whispered and Tom had known even then that her lungs were filling with blood. She'd known it, too, damnable brilliant woman that she was, and in the end she'd only asked him for one thing. "Hold me, please, I don't want to be alone."

Tom had crushed her to him, dropping kisses over every inch of her face that he could reach. "I'm so sorry, Rachel, I wasted so much time. I spent so much time being angry and I never got the chance to tell you...tell you that I...how much I...What you mean to me." Tears had streamed down his face, dropping like rain onto Rachel's alabaster skin, but she'd lifted her hand and tenderly touched his lips.

"No regrets, Tom Chandler, this is not your fault. Thank you, for everything," she'd murmured all the while drawing his head gently towards hers. Without the slightest hesitation, Tom had pressed his lips to hers in a soft, chaste kiss, full of the promise of everything that would never be between them. When he'd lifted his head, Rachel had inhaled a ragged breath and she'd been gone.

Even now, a lone tear slipped down his cheek, and Tom let it fall into the sink, allowing the grief to roll over him and away. Sasha had helped teach him that - it turned out the only way for the yawning chasm of sorrow not to swallow him whole was to allow it to ebb and flow around him when the need arose.

The next few months after Rachel's death had been nonstop - saving the crew of the James from the Chinese and meeting up with Sasha again. Like she'd done twenty years before, Sasha had blown into his life like a hurricane, shook him up and left him ass over teakettle in her wake. Widowed from the Red Flu, she'd not been willing to let the opportunity for happiness pass her by, and she'd refused to let Tom wallow in his misery. She'd breathed life into him, pieced him back together and never, ever let him get away with anything. Six months later, they'd moved into the farmhouse and had gotten married in the backyard, down by the pond, with Russ officiating. Then, a year later, they'd both been pleasantly surprised when Sasha had gotten pregnant. Judging by the pounding footsteps coming up the staircase, Tom guessed that the result of that pregnancy was attempting to launch a "surprise" attack on her father.

Chuckling to himself, Tom flattened his body against the sink, listening for his offspring. Sure enough, the bedroom slowly creaked open, and a mop of raven black curls appeared around the doorframe. Tiptoeing into the room, the youngest Chandler creeped over to the bed to see if her missing parent was still sleeping. Finding the bed empty, she whirled on her heel, stalking towards the bathroom. Tom allowed one foot to slide forward just enough that his toes would be visible. When she saw her father's toes, the little girl burst into a fit of giggles, and she exclaimed, "Daddy, I found you!"

Snatching his baby girl by the waist, Tom playfully roared and tossed her effortlessly over his shoulder. Now giggling uncontrollably, his daughter squealed her delight as her daddy tickled her sides before righting her in his arms and kissing her chubby cheeks.

"Good morning, munchkin," Tom said when her giggles had subsided.

"Good morning, Daddy," she responded with a sunny smile. "Are you hungry?"

Tom pretended to think, prompting his child to roll her eyes in a perfect imitation of her mother, before he answered that he was, in point of fact, starving.

"Good because Mommy and I made pancakes, and she says you need to get downstairs on the double if you want some," she said in her most grownup sounding voice.

"Hmmm, well, Mommy is probably right," Tom conceded settling his little girl on his hip and heading down the stairs to find his wife. "She usually is, Ellie-girl."

Elyse Rachel Chandler, aged four, was the spitting image of her mother save for the blue eyes she inherited from her father. Her middle name had been Sasha's choice, and Tom had been unsure at first, until Sasha had told him that she wanted to honor the memory of the woman who had saved them all. "Without Rachel," Sasha had wisely pointed out. "We'd not even have each other, much less, Ellie."

And as Tom had told his daughter, Sasha was almost always right. Slipping into the kitchen, his finger held to his lips so that Ellie would keep quiet, too, he stealthily crept towards his wife who was standing at the screen door that opened onto the back porch, watching as Jed, Ashley and Sam all trooped towards the house. Tom grabbed Sasha around the waist, pulling her flush against his body. Spinning on her instep, Sasha turned in his arms accepting his good morning kiss. Their kiss, as most of theirs did, quickly grew heated, but before it could get too out of control, Ellie wriggled between her parents, brining their focus off one another and back to her.

"Ellie-girl," Tom jokingly chided her. "You're kind of cramping my style," he whined, but Sasha only laughed at him, causing Ellie to laugh, too.

"Relax, cowboy," Sasha said before placing a kiss to her husband's cheek. "I happen to like your style just fine. Now come on, these pancakes won't keep much longer." Sasha glided away to grab a pitcher of orange juice and set it on the sideboard where the aforementioned pancakes awaited consumption, along with bacon, sausage and eggs. Sammy and Ashley were horsing around as they ambled up the steps to the back porch, their grandfather on their heels, though Tom couldn't help but notice that his father seemed to be just a bit slower on the steps than he would have a few years earlier. Still, if Tom could move half as well at 79 as his father did, he figured he'd be doing pretty damned good. Smiling to himself, Tom scooped Ellie up and deposited her into her booster seat; she still needed a few inches to be able to reach the tabletop. Taking just a moment to observe his family - Sam and Ashley washing up at the kitchen sink, his dad pouring what was probably his fifth cup of coffee and his wife cutting up pancakes for their baby girl - Tom allowed himself to bask in the serenity of the moment. Almost six years ago, the world had nearly ended, but somehow, some way, for Tom and his family, the world had righted itself at last.


End file.
